


Thursday Night

by Defnotmeyo



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Rape Roleplay, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-20 21:22:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13726242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defnotmeyo/pseuds/Defnotmeyo
Summary: Scully lets Mulder in on a little secret... pretty much at the same time she lets herself in on it.  Is he up to it?  I guess we'll find out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N. I'm going to be very up front about this right away. This is a nonconsensual roleplay fic. Chapter 1 is safe for work... mostly. Here be monsters.

Thursday night. Beer in hand, Mulder bellied up to his desktop, and pulled up ICQ.

_Foxyspook 21:30 pm :_

_Yo. You around, homegirl?_

He sat back and took a pull. 

Life was good, these days. Could be better, but it was good. He finally had that social life she’d always egged him on about. Of course, he could have had that social life about two years ago, if he’d just sacked up and asked the love of his life out for dinner.

One didn’t know these things though, or at least not until they’d rolled around in the other’s mind for a few days.

He could slap himself for his ignorance, but he would rather-

_Aliensatemyfieldreport 21:32 pm:_

_Homegirl. I’m reconsidering this relationship._

Mulder smiled and took another drink. 

_Foxyspook 21:32pm:_

_Word up. You on the first or second glass of that nice Cab I bought? I’d reconsider your reconsideration considering all the nice wine I buy you._

_Aliensatemyfieldreport 21:33 pm:_

_Remind me why I let you talk me into this stupid chat thing._

_Foxyspook 21:33 pm_

_Uh. How about you tell me why you made that ridiculous handle._

51 days.

It had been 51 days since she’d finally decided he was worth a sleepover. Granted, she’d left immediately after the sleep part, but she’d stayed, and that was important to him. 

He’d gone grocery shopping the next day. Yogurt, OJ, a carton of eggs, the works. Mulder didn’t really know how to show his love outside of the bedroom (or couch, or table, or carpet, or nasty motel desk), but he did know women enjoyed not waking up to expired milk. He’d gotten that part right, at least, in previous relationships.

Huh. 

_Foxyspook 21:37 pm:_

_So, uh. Relationship, huh. This is the first time I’ve heard it called as such. Do I need to give you my class ring?_

He was fishing, and he damn well knew it. They were perfect opposites. He knew she loved him, but he had a validation-monster sitting on his shoulder at all times. It didn’t matter that he’d recently heard every third thought that rattled through her head. He needed to know.

Mulder had a deep-seated belief that even those who loved him gave up on him. This was the first time she’d even obliquely referred to them as together, and he deflated the heart swell with another quick drink of beer. 

Christ.

He didn’t think one was supposed to feel this nervous at 39, and yet, here he was. Pushing 40 and still trying to ask his girl if they were “in a relationship,” or if it was “complicated.” Though, nothing would ever be-

 _Uh-oh!_ ICQ bleated.

_Aliensatemyfieldreport 21:39 pm:_

_For a man embroiled in conspiracy, you’re sure comfortable letting our dirty laundry air on an unprotected chat line where I’m sure A.D. Skinner is racking himself while reading every word…_

_Foxyspook 21:39 pm:_

_Ah. Third glass I see. That Cab must be pretty good._

_Aliensatemyfieldreport 21:39 pm:_

_The cab… is gone._

_Foxyspook 21:40 pm:_

_Good lord, woman. Just because tomorrow is a red-letter day… Wait. Why wasn’t I invited over again?_

The validation-monster struck again. 

_Aliensatemyfieldreport 21:40 pm:_

_I have laundry, Mulder. Trash to take out. Groceries to buy (thanks for the yogurt, btw). Mail to check. The list goes on._

_Foxyspook 21:41 pm:_

_And yet… here I sit, with a day off tomorrow. Scully, you can take me to buy groceries, you know._

He was petulant and pouting. And he knew it. But damn. 

They’d wined, they’d dined, and he’d seen her naked five ways from Sunday. He invited her just about everywhere. She’d stayed over, for fuck’s sake.

_Foxyspook 21:42 pm:_

_So…. The relationship thing._

He hit send, and realized he’d maybe had one too many beers. 

_Aliensatemyfieldreport 21:42 pm:_

_Pick up the phone._

“Hey,” he answered on the first ring. 

“You’re drunk.” 

“I’m moderately intoxicated, but-“

“Because, I know you’re not asking me if we’re ‘official’ over an internet chatroom.”

She sounded wry, and not pissed, so he slouched over to the sofa and settled in. 

“I mean,” he shrugged, “we’ve never talked about it.”

She snorted. “Mulder,” she sighed over the phone and he heard her indulgence set in, “I don’t have to have the ‘what are we’ conversation with you, do I? You’re the one who had the magic viewfinder snapshot into my head.” 

He shrugged, and knew she was picturing him, exactly as is. “It’s just nice to hear.” Fuck. He needed to stop drinking and chatting. It was bad for his ego. 

“God. This is so awkward,” she giggled, and he knew, yeah, the Cab was gone. 

They were both about point-one-point-five percent too drunk for this conversation, but that’s when conversations like this happened, anyway.

He took a stab. “So, boyfriend?”

Her cackle was simultaneously heartening and disheartening and he wondered, not for the first time, how she managed to make him feel like that. Happy, and elated, and free-falling all at one time.

“You’re almost 40!”

Mulder took mild offense. “Yeah? And you’re not exactly far away either, what does that have to do with anything?”

“Mulder,” she snorted again over the line, and he was picturing her picturing him stealing her rice dreamsicle thing, “we’re too old for words like that, and way, way too uh-“ she broke off. Her next words were pitched lower, drunk-sudden serious, “Mulder, we’re way too close to use that kind of verbiage.”

He breathed over the phone. Relieved. Drunken relieved. “Scully. We’ve got tomorrow off and we’re both sitting alone on the couch shit-faced. What do you want me to think?”

Another sigh. “I just needed a night. It’s nothing to do with you. It was a good night. I missed you but that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

He wasn’t sure he would ever be used to her. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to be. “Alright, but does that mean I get breakfast first thing tomorrow?”

He could practically hear her smile. “Yeah, you might get lucky with breakfast.”

“Ah, gettin’ lucky, now that’s my kinda talk,” he smiled, and unconsciously threaded his hand down the waistband of his pajama pants. He wasn’t even thinking about it, when he gave his cock a little tug. But the next words out of his mouth, “I kinda wish I was gettin’ lucky right now.” Fuck. He’d had one too many.

But, so had she. “What do you kinda wish you were doing, Mulder?”

“Mmm,” he smiled and sat back. Tug. “I kind of wish I was nose-deep in your pussy.”

“Jesus.” Well, that escalated quickly. 

He licked his palm and fisted himself. “I kind of wish…”

“What do you want, Mulder?”

What did he want? Everything. Her love. Her trust. He wanted everything. More than that. He wanted more than he’d ever wanted. He wanted proof. 

“You ever try handcuffs, Scully?” 

Christ. He was drunk.

But so was she. And her full-bellied laugh told him as much because it was damn near impossible to get that laugh out of sober-Scully, and he had tried. 

Her voice was instantly more sober though. “No, but uh… I’m willing to give them a shot.”

It was a weird thing, to be talking about something dirty but feeling something pure within you. “Mmm…” he smiled again. “What-uh… whatever you’re comfortable with.”

They’d been together now long enough. Seen each other in just about every way possible. The sleepover had sort of been the last mountain to climb and it’d finally happened. He figured he knew just about every place in Dana Scully now, and he was supremely comfortable with her knowing every place in him. 

“Whatever I’m comfortable with?”

“Huh?” The question brought him out of reflection.

“Y-… yeah, Scully. Of course. I’d uh,” he swallowed. Dammit. Alcohol. Never again. “I’d do anything for you, and I’d never do anything to make you uncomfortable,” and he closed his eyes because it was true, but sober they didn’t talk like this, and he damn sure didn’t want to remember this conversation tomorrow morning. They talked in touch, and in glance, but not in words.

But alcohol (and they’d both had a little too much),had a way of turning suggestion to truth. Particularly when two people were zip codes away, loved each other, and were talking over the phone.

“Mulder,” she was soft. Almost… hesitant? “Mulder, what’s your darkest fantasy?”

He took his hand out of his pants and sat up straight. “What?”

“I’m not asking to judge,” she clarified quickly. “I’m just… I just want to know.”

“Uh…” he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “I mean, you’ve seen the videos.” 

The porn had never really been a sticking point of shame for him. Especially now, she knew his sex drive like the back of her hand. And, especially now, he knew hers. 

One of many of the things Mulder was shocked and thrilled by was Scully’s physical drive for him was as strong as her emotional. He hadn’t heard that when he’d incidentally crawled around in her skull. That one had been a surprise. And one for which he was infinitely grateful. 

“Tell me, Mulder,” she spoke back to him. 

Scully was, as always, a glutton for evidence. For the spoken word. It didn’t matter if she’d walked in on “Bound and Babed,” or, “You’ve Just Been Served… Pussy,” or, “Wet Dreams May Cum.” Because she had. Walked in on all of them, it seemed. 

She’d never caught him cock out, thankfully. Even he conceded that’d be grounds for a workplace harassment suit. Shit. The videos enough were. He knew that and had knocked it off. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t seen the titles.

“I want you,” he spoke personally, because the conversation had become about them, “tied up to that head board of yours, blindfolded… maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe uh,” he shifted. He was hard as shit but he didn’t touch himself. Because overall, he was a little ashamed. “Maybe gagged.”

“Fuck,” she sailored, wine-sloppy and a little potty-mouthed. It wasn’t a bad ‘fuck,’ either.

Slightly encouraged, Mulder went on. “I want you doggie like that. Just completely willing. Completely trusting.”

“I trust you, Mulder.”

“Completely there for me. Because I want to give you-“ he swallowed. The ledge. Thank god for beer. “I want to give you everything I have, Scully. And I want to make you cum. About forty-two times.”

“Jesus.”

He threaded his hand back down his pants. “I want to make you cum so hard you forget your name.”

Her breathing was turning him on. Fuck. His love for this woman. For her, the stars weren’t enough. 

Mulder was content to just listen to them, over the line. He wasn’t stroking with intent. Just feeling himself and missing her. But… the question lingered.

“What uh… what’s your fantasy, Scully?”

The line stayed silent.

“Scully?”

The line stayed quiet.

He dropped his voice. “Scully? Talk to me.”

“There are…” she hesitated. “Mulder. I’ve got…”

His hand slipped back out and his inner psychologist perked up, curious and eager. Dana Scully didn’t just share information. But then… Cabernet.

Shit. Cabernet. He’d given her the wine, but she’d been the one to drink it all. She was working up to something. And Scully didn’t work up to these emotional kinds of things soberly, if she could help it.

“I’ve got…” she tried again. “There are fantasies I have… that I haven’t told anyone about.”

At this point, Mulder thought, she could tell him she liked to strap it on and peg men. He didn’t care. The fact that she trusted him enough, even though it took a bottle of wine to do it, floored him. Sunk into his skin. Soothed him. 

For better, for worse, Dana Katherine Scully was fully in love with him and it didn’t matter she didn’t want to call him her boyfriend or give them a label. It didn’t matter one bit. 

Were they together? Hell yes, they were, and Mulder was all in.

“Scully, you could tell me you would like to strap leather dog masks on us and fuck me in the ass, and I’d still ask you to marry me. You’d say no, but I’d ask,” Mulder said, without checking himself. Whatever she had to tell him, he was determined to make her comfortable enough to say it. 

Fully-belly laugh out of her this time, and he smiled. Mission accomplished.

The line was heavily silent, again.

He sobered. “Dana, seriously. You know you can tell me anything, you can ask me to do anything. I’m all yours, unfortunately” he added. 

She huffed a laugh.

“It’s really, um. It’s really dark, Mulder.”

Oh.

Shit. 

Okay. Maybe he wasn’t ready to handle this. He bit his lip and stayed shut the fuck up. 

“I-um. I guess it’s a…” she stumbled over the word.

Neither one of them wanted to say it. 

Shit.

Mulder stepped in to save her. “It’s uh-“ he cleared his throat. “It’s called nonconsensual roleplay, Scully.” He sat back into the couch. He was not hard. He’d lost his manhood, a bit. The Mulder with the psychology degree from Oxford stepped into to save him. “It’s pretty normal, actually, especially for uh… for women that have to be more assertive in their day-to-day lives.”

Her silence communicated his ability to hit the nail on the head. 

“It’s a little embarrassing,” she finally spoke. “Or… it’s a lot embarrassing.”

“Scully, no,” God… he was too drunk to be talking about this. And his flagged erection told him all he needed to know. She might be into it, but he wasn’t, exactly. “It’s-it’s human. You’re so… so in control of everything that sometimes you want to be out of control. Sometimes you need it and-and-and you need to be able to get that from someone you trust. Someone like-“

“You.”

“Like me,” Mulder echoed. 

The line was quiet, save for their breathing, for several seconds.

“I told you it was dark, Mulder,” she huffed, and he could practically hear the roll of her eyes, the shake of her head, embarrassed most likely for having revealed something like to this him. Ashamed, maybe. 

Shit. 

C’mon Fox, recover here, throw her a line.

“It’s pretty normal,” he repeated.

“But you’re not interested,” she murmured. 

He rubbed his hand down his face and looked down at his lap. Well, that erection was gone for the night. “I’m not not interested,” he finally shook off his shock, “I just… it’s something I never considered before. Never even considered someone like you-“

“Someone like me,” she interrupted.

Shit. 

“Scully,” he sighed, “That’s not what I meant. And yes,” he slumped back further into his couch. “Look I… I would do anything to…” dammit. That last beer. “I’d do anything to make you happy, you know that. I just need some time.”

“Time.”

“Yes!” he barked, then mellowed. “Time, Scully. This isn’t just something you do. You don’t say, ‘Hey, Fox, why don’t you just come tie me to the bed and fuck me while I pretend I don’t want it.’”

Amusement crept back into her tone. “I don’t say ‘Fox,’ at all.”

He chuffed and rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying I need some time to read about this, to do this right. If… if we do this, it’s gotta be done right. I don’t want to hurt you.”

This time the silence was thick, laden like cold maple syrup, sloughing out on a winter morning.

“I trust you.”

The click at the end of the line signaled her departure from the conversation. 

Mulder hung up his end and sat there, in the quiet, sipping on his last beer. He’d barely even considered tying a woman up before, much less attempting any kind of nonconsensual roleplay.

Rape, Fox, call it what it is.

He shook his head to clear it. 

_Uh-oh!_ ICQ rang out and Mulder damn near shot half his beer across the living room. He was gonna have to disable sound on that thing. He moved over to the computer.

_Aliensatemyfieldreport 22:13 pm:_

_Hey. That was awkward. I’m sorry._

_Foxyspook 22:13 pm:_

_No! No, you have nothing to apologize for. Just uh, took me a little off-guard there partner._

_Aliensatemyfieldreport 22:14 pm:_

_We don’t need to try this. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable._

_Foxyspook 22:14 pm:_

_No, really. I’m interested. I want to explore with you. Just give me some time to look into it, is all. I want to do it right._

_Aliensatemyfieldreport 22:16 pm:_

_Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere._

Mulder smiled softly, his validation-monster perking up. God. He would do anything for this woman. The earth itself knew no bounds.

_Foxyspook 22:16 pm:_

_Thanks partner. And trust me. I’m going to make this good._

_Aliensatemyfieldreport 22:16 pm:_

_Have a good night. And trust you? You know how it is._

_(Aliensatemyfieldreport has left the chat)_

Mulder leaned back. He sighed and rubbed his face again, this time running his hand back through his hair and giving a good scratch. 

Pulled up his browser and search engine. Tried to decide what string of words weren’t going to land on his desk in front of him in the Hoover building on Monday. 

Typed: Are nonconsensual fantasies normal?

Search results returned. 

At least four of them were porn sites. 

He winced at one of the returns: ‘Forced Sex Roleplay (fsrp) XXX HOT! 10 free minutes; She won’t like it til you make her.’

Sighed one last time and moved over to click one of the links. 

Uh oh, indeed.


	2. Thursday Night: Friday Repercussions

Friday ended the next week, and all was right with the world. Low caseload, for once. Which made it just about perfect.

She reached for her coat off the hanger, and he grabbed her hand, pulling it away and pinning it to the door.

“Mulder-” they didn’t fuck around in the office.

He shouldered into her, forcing her tits-first up against the wall, and fisted the back of her hair. If she was going to be into this, he had to be sure. 

“You’re taking next week off,” he bent down, sucked her earlobe in between his lips, and gave it a nip and tug.

“The week?” she was already on protest, but not outright kicking his ass. “Mulder,” she braced against the door and moved to shove him off, “I can’t take a week off!”

“Mmm.” He ground his hips against hers, pumped once against her ass. He stood a little straighter, but kept his hips glued to hers, pinning her against the wall. 

“I’m the supervisory agent, remember? You get a week off. And I…” he looked away, came back, and hazel met blue. “I get your gun.”

Her eyebrow went sky-high, and he felt her start to seriously move against him now, leveraging her hips into the crease of his groin, working to gain the momentum to throw him off.

He tossed his leg around hers, ripped her right leg out from underneath, and ruined her gambit. He had her pinned by the crest of their pelvic bones.

It was bruising. But if she couldn’t take this…

“My gun?”

Jesus. Were they really talking about this here?

“I get your gun,” his susurrus hiss echoed of the wall, descended into a grunt as he ground them both against the drywall. “Both of ‘em, but I’ll settle right now for the Glock,” he lifted his palm up.

There was a pause as he drew off her, but not without a grind he knew rubbed her right across the door frame. Her low moan told him he was spot on.

She turned against him as he let off pressure and backed up, with that damn slack-jawed breath that drove him fucking nuts.

Eyed him.

Finally, she unsnapped her holster, dropped the weapon into his palm. He dumped the magazine, which echoed comically loud in the office, and then racked the slide, locking it back and ejecting the chambered round. It rattled down by their feet. The whole affair was dramatic.

Dramatic enough to make him hard as shit. And on a more deep-seated level, enough to make him hate himself, just a little.

“I need you to bring your secondary to my place by six tonight, and leave it in the bottom drawer of my computer desk. I’ll be out playing ball.” Mulder set the pistol on the file cabinet next to them. Stepped into her again and hip-shifted her back against the wall. 

They’d been like this, before, years ago in a charged closet in the Arctic circle. On this edge of trust, lust, and fucking each other’s brains out. The only difference was now, she was facing him, and could see exactly how serious he was.

“And… Most importantly,” he bent and nipped her neck. Responded to her gasp with a pop of his hips into hers. “Most importantly,” he pulled back, “I need a word for no.”

He braced himself. They hadn’t brought up their conversation while sober. 

“A word for no,” she repeated.

He pressed back against her, crushing them against the wall and her belly, pressing up against her hipbone, and riding the line of his cock between pain and pleasure.

It hurt.

He wanted it to hurt.

“Scully, if we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do this. If it’s what you want, I’m all in. But I need a word to back off.” He tracked her gaze with those profiler-eyes of his and saw the second she realized what he needed.

She got it. This was her safeword.

But it was his, too.

Mulder was willing to roleplay, to do this for her, but it was going to cost him something. A guy that could crawl through the head of crazy the way Mulder could tended to live on a dangerous little ledge.

A ledge he’d never fall off.

Because of her.

“Pismo.”

“Pismo,” he repeated, nearly indignant, backing away from her. She wasn’t taking him seriously.

She shrugged. They were inches away, and he was well past half-hard.

Fuck.

What he really wanted to do was grab her by the shoulder, turn her around, hike up that skirt, and fuck her until she didn’t remember her own name.

“I used to go there, Pismo Beach, with my Dad when he was on leave. Hunt clams.” She cocked her eyebrow.

God damn. His girl was dirty. And he loved it.

“Needless to say, Supervisory Agent in Charge,” she stepped up into him and ran her hand up the ridge of him in his pants while giving his tie a tug and his chest a tap.

He almost swallowed his teeth.

“If I’m thinking about Pismo Beach with my father while you’re seven inches deep, you’re probably doing something really, really wrong.”

The door snicked shut before he even had a chance to register her leaving.

He hadn’t heard the elevator ding yet though.

Fuck the office. If they were listening, they could keep right on jerking it.

He threw the door open. “Eight inches, Scully,” he called out, “And you’re gonna feel it all.”

He didn’t wait to hear her laugh while he slammed the door shut.


	3. Next Thursday

It starts like this.

A week after their initial discussion, he knocks off work two hours early.

She’s gotta know.

She’s smarter than him, most days. And Mulder know’s she’s a person who mark’s the moment on her psyche. She got a fucking tattoo, for god’s sake. 

He wants her to expect him, for both their safety. As a woman of ritual, a woman of science, he knows the day she will. 

So, on Thursday, a week to the day, he grabs his jacket, heads home, heads for the shower.

Starts to shed Mulder.

A tie on the floor, a jacket over the arm of his couch, shoes near the corner of the hall. Every article of clothing feels like leaving a part of him that, when this all started, had almost zero interest.

It’s time to become a man that can fuck his partner… even if she says no.

In his shower, he lets himself get just a little mad. She thinks she can control everything? She’s got him. She knows it. Hook, line, and sinker. Does she really need to fucking prove that? It almost reminds him of Phoebe.

Phoebe? Fuck Phoebe.

He breathes, pulls himself back a little.

Not much, but a little.

Fuck Phoebe, because he never got to control a damn thing with her. Fucking in a cemetery? Her idea. Edging him to the point of completion and then making him get himself off? Happened all the time. (I don’t want semen anywhere near my face or mouth, Fox. That’s disgusting.) And the feel of wax dripping down near his manhood while he tried to push her away?

Mulder would hate fire for the rest of his life.

The water sluices between his shoulder blades.

Fuck Diana, too. Fucking Diana pulled him so close to the ledge he almost jumped. With her conditional love, and her conditional hate, and her conditional vows.

He jerks once, twice in his hand. Conditional. The complete opposite of what he has with Scully, who’s only condition is that she loves him unconditionally, for better or worse. With her, he doesn’t need the vows.

He realizes right then, as much as he is going to give her tonight by letting her lose control, she’s giving him something just as vital in return.

He is a man with a confidence problem, at least when it comes to relationships.

And she is giving him the keys to the kingdom. She is giving him control.

He’s feeling better about it every second as he shaves. He splashes on a little of the cologne she bought him. It’s uniquely him and he knows she can identify the earthy, spiciness. He’s banking on this scent to help her know instantly who she’s dealing with.

When he pulls the turtleneck over his head, the black pants up his hips, his confidence in himself to make this happen for her has tripled.

He’s seen the porn, and to be honest, he’s hated most of it. It’s fake. Bad actors faking bad things on bad cameras over bad internet. The videos didn’t turn him on.

What has turned Mulder on has been the erotica he eventually stumbled on, and the fact that some of it lets him get into the woman’s headspace. It’s been the words and not the actions. And disturbingly… the more realistic it’s been, the hotter he’s felt.

He rubs his face, looking at himself in the mirror.

He is going to do this.

Bye-bye Mulder.

Grabs his keys and heads to his car.

…..

When he gets to her place he sits, watching to see if she’s in. Thursday is her grocery day, and despite her not having either of her weapons, he is banking on her habitual nature to pull her from her house anyway. When there’s no movement or lights turning on as the sun sets, he lets himself in. 

She shouldn’t be too far behind him.

He grabs her handcuffs from off of her nightstand and pre-stages them, opening one end of the bale. The scrick of metal on metal is deafening in thick silence of her apartment, and although he’s not a rookie when it comes to cuffs, he flinches a little anyway.

Sack up, Fox.

He snaps one end onto the back corner of her bed frame, and having anticipated he would need one more set for them to be long enough for what he’s got in mind, he adds his primary set to the mix by linking the bales together.

He heads back to the kitchen and moves her knife set into the closest cabinet. Reassured that no one is going to be getting stabbed or shot tonight, he settles himself up against the wall by her door.

He’s banking on two things.

One: FBI agents are training to breach and clear a room, but their size difference means that he always breaches, and she always clears, so he’s counting on her not being in the habit of throwing her door all the way back.

Two: Grocery night is going to dictate that her hands are full, so she’s going to kick the door closed without turning around, and then he’ll be on her.

The only question in his mind, provided everything goes the way he thinks it’s going to go, is how hard she’s going to fight back.

The snick of her key in the lock breaks his concentration free.

He’s about to find out.

—–

Just as he imagined, she shuts the door with her heel, kicking it closed.

He’s on her in a second, with an arm around her waist and a hand in a tight clamp across her mouth, ignoring the bags as they fall to the ground. He’s half-mast at best, but damned if her squirming up against him doesn’t make him harder. 

He doesn’t hear the clack of glass on the floor, doesn’t care if there’s something in there he broke.

“You say one word,” he growls, “one fuckin’ word, and I swear, I’m gonna teach you a lesson you’ll never forget. You understand?”

His question from earlier is answered instantly, because before he can move her forward, he feels Scully shift her center of gravity low and plant her feet, then launch herself – and him – backwards against the door.

Mulder oomphs as the wind is knocked out of him, and loses his grip on her waist, just enough that she manages to pass under his elbow and armpit, and before he knows it, he’s in a wristlock, and she is taking him down.

He thought, earlier, was that it was going to be difficult for him to rise to the occasion, but he feels a swell of pride coupled with a fierce pang of competition that sends blood straight to his dick.

Oh. It’s gonna be like that, huh?

Before she can move fully past him, he’s back to his knees, with an arm across her hips and a hold on her ankle. He doesn’t fully trip her – he would risk breaking one of her bones that way – but his weight on her is enough to drag her down to her knees, both of them grunting in effort.

He presses himself against Scully’s back, intending to use his weight to force her down to the floor underneath him, but she anticipates it, and instead twists to face him, dropping to her back as she does.

She’s laying under him now, but she’s in perfect position to get her hands over his hip bone and create just enough space to get her foot into him.

He thanks god she’s in running shoes and not heels.

She leverages her hips and creates enough space to slide out from underneath him and to the side.

She had to have felt how hard he was.

Mulder’s a little irritated now. He knew he’d be playing a role, but she’s fighting him off like she really doesn’t want it. And he knows for a fact that she does.

And if she doesn’t yet, well… He’s going to damn well make her want it. By the end of the night, he’s going to make her scream for it.

She’s moved up past him, but he’s right on her heels, and she’s made one fatal mistake. She’s traveled way too close to the sofa in her escape.

Mulder growls as he lunges up off the floor and uses all his bodyweight and momentum to slam her into the back of the couch.

Her muffled oof tells him he’s got the upper hand, as he hip-presses her into the furniture, fisting the back of her hair and kicking one of her ankles to the side, spread-eagling her and ruining any chance she has to leverage him.

They stand like that, both heaving, and now quiet, for what feels like eternity.

He takes a second while they recover to tug her wrists behind her back and lock them in his hand before leaning heavily over her.

“You really like to fight, huh?” he hisses in her ear. “Good. Good, baby. I like ‘em like that.” He releases her hands from his grip but keeps himself tight to her so she can’t get out from under him, reaches into his back pocket for his secondary set of cuffs.

The sound of the first bale locking over her wrist is deafening, and Mulder moans when she presses her ass back against him, hard. Snaps the second cuff closed, then bends her back over the couch and lowers himself so he’s right up against his ear.

Takes one long, slow swipe of his tongue up the outer lobe.

He’s still got one fist in her hair, but with her handcuffed, his left hand is free to begin a journey, and he starts with a slow rub across her belly.

She’s in her running clothes, fitted powder blue v-neck and a pair of black spandex and he groans. God, now that he can take a second to breathe, he can smell her, and she must have been out jogging before the grocery store because fuck. 

It’s a scent he knows well.

It’s pure Scully, the way he loves her most, the way she always is at the end of a long day, in a different town, on the hunt of a case. Post-head-clearing-run, motel-rumpled, a little world-weary, and all his.

Jesus. He’s never gotten to go down on her quite like this. They’ve got a strict, separate rooms and no-frat rule that he finds mildly infuriating. And they’re still just a little too new to have done anything more productive on a day off than eat and fuck.

“You think I haven’t noticed you?” he groans up against her, breath ruffling the fine little hairs near her ear. Grinds himself against her ass and thigh, his cock pulled up thick and tight in his pants. “Walking around the Hoover building? In those tight little skirts and those come-fuck-me heels?”

She moans and twists against him, but he’s got her off-balance and pinned.

“Yeah,” he continues, egged on by the way she’s crushed her ass right back against him. 

“Yeah, I’ve noticed you. Acting like you’re too good for anyone in that building except your partner,” she grunts at that, “I’ll even bet you’re fucking him. Aren’t you?” he tightens his hand in her hair, turning her head slightly just in time to see Scully slam her eyes shut. “Yeah, you’re fucking him alright, but baby, no one can fuck you like me.”

With that, Mulder stands her up just enough to move her hips back, so he can get his hand down between her and the sofa. He threads it down the waistband of her spandex, and rests it for a second, just above her pubic mound, fingertips tickling the line where the fine hair on her belly turns coarse. He feels her stomach shudder against him.

“Should I check, before I fuck you, huh? Should I check how wet you are for me?”

He’s set a slow grind up and down the crack of her ass for the last few seconds, and pauses, just enough for him to run his hand down further, through her patch of curls and down to the slick of her.

And Holy. Fuck.

Dana Scully is fucking soaked.

Mulder is so taken aback for a second that he almost misses when she takes advantage of his loss of focus, almost misses it as she manages to get her foot inside of his and tries to kick his ankle out.

Almost.

He takes advantage of the quick close of her thighs, roping his arm over across her waist and lifting her, swinging them from behind the couch to the arm of it, and bending her over it. It gives him a chance, with her narrower stance, to kick one of her shoes off and rip her pants down and off one leg.

Mother fucker. He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice before, but she’s not wearing underwear. Christ. She must have soaked through her jogging pants.

He doesn’t even bother removing his jeans, just unbuttons and unzips and yanks himself out. He’s as hard now as he’s ever been.

Mulder threads himself up and down her outer lips, moaning as she lubricates him. He makes sure she feels the head of him on her clit with every… single… pass. Earns an answering moan from her.

He’s got his hand back in her hair, when he lines up on her, splits her with the head of his cock and rests, half an inch in her. He forces her head to the side. 

He can already feel her clamp up on his glans. Fuck.

He grits his teeth. Her. This is for her. Give her what she wants, asshole. Finish this fantasy the fuck out.

“Tell me you don’t want this, you little slut.” She tightens further down on him.

“Fuck you,” she says, her first words of the evening.

In his head he’s chanting Pismo, Pismo, Pismo he needs to know, needs to remember if she says it, he’s gotta stop, because he’s about to be at the point where he can’t stop.

Tests her one last time. “Fuck me? Fuck you. You’re wet as hell for me. You don’t want it? Tell me no.”

She catches eyes with him and they hold for what feels, to Mulder, like eternity.

“No,” she hisses, locking his hooded stare in her blue tractor-beam pull.

It’s the last signal he needs, before he buries himself in her and pins her to the couch in one long, punishing thrust.

Her eyes slam shut and she cries out in a wall-rumbling, low, throaty yowl and he holds, pressing himself into her.

“Open your eyes,” he groans. “Fucking open your eyes while I fuck you.”

He can feel her, right on the edge already. He has yet to move.

She obeys, recaptures his gaze, and he presses his hand back down against her. He’s got her wound up so tight he can fucking feel it – she can’t help but clinch down on him. One hard rub down the slick side of her clit… two… and she is bucking back against him so hard she nearly throws him off as she comes all over them, practically dripping down their thighs.

He doesn’t give her a single second to recover as he sets up a slow and absolutely relentless rhythm, knocking them so hard against the arm of the sofa with every long thrust, he can feel her hips thud against it.

He’s belly-tight-to-back against her as he rocks them, mates them, and he takes his hand from her, pulling her up enough to get under her shirt and to her breasts. He palms one, giving a tight squeeze and shake, moving to roll her nipple.

“I knew it. I fucking knew it,” he groans, starting to pound her faster. “I fucking knew I could make you come all over my cock. Feel how wet you are, you dirty little, uh…” he cuts off, can’t keep talking through it. Finally releases her hair to finger her again.

Jesus Christ, she is so fucking wet.“Ah!” Thrust. “God!” he nips her ear lobe and tugs. “You are so, fucking, wet, you feel that, baby?” He brings his hand back up to her face, to her mouth, and threads his index and middle finger inside her cheek, steering clear of her teeth.

“This is how you taste after you come all over me,” he groans, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

He’s crushing them now, set on a pace so brutal he starts to lose the strength in his thighs. He rips himself from her and she cries out from the loss, but in less than a second he’s got her twisted down to the ground on her back, his thighs spreading her.

“Yeah, yeah, open up,” he mutters, damn near out of breath, and slams back home. For the second time, he feels her start to come, and he yanks himself from her and straddles her stomach, yanking her shirt and bra up in one move, clamping down on a breast as he jerks his dick.

“Fuck yeah, baby,” he groans, fisting himself and jacking off over her, “That’s my fucking,” and the cum boils up in him, erupting in a first and second spurt all over her tits, “Slut. You’re mine,” he cuts off again as he jets a third time, some of him lashing across her chin and up her cheek. “Ahhhhh,” he strokes out the last of his orgasm, his strength waning, “Fuckin’ mine.”

His last moan peters out as he begins to collapse on top of her, but he wants that last little bit of contact he has left. He moves back between her legs and buries himself with what’s left of his erection.

Her gasp raises goosebumps on the back of his neck, and he can still feel her orgasm as she slowly shudders to a stop.

He moves his arm underneath her and rolls them, massaging her wrists, and sloppily licking and kissing his way up her face, cleaning her up. She’s huffing against him, and he chances a look down to find her mouth still dropped open in a soft, “Oh,” as she tries to regain her breath.

“Mulder?” she’s the first one that gathers the energy to speak.

“Yeah?” he hasn’t even managed to tuck himself away, his soft cock hanging wet and sloppy down the crotch of his pants.

“Pismo.”

He snorts and nuzzles his face into her neck.

“I had plans, you know,” he murmurs. “Big fuckin’ plans. I was going to cuff you and fuck the hell out of you on that little bed of yours.”

“It’s a queen,” Jesus. Even post mind-blowing fuck she was protesting.

He shrugs. “Semantics.”

“Mulder?” she repeats.

“Yeah?”

“Get these fucking cuffs off me.”

He belts a laugh and she echoes him.

They’re both, almost certifiably, completely fucking crazy.

Later, there will come the after care. Later, he will spend almost the entirety of an hour between her legs, apologizing for the bruises on her wrists. She will spend the next fifteen minutes bringing him off in her mouth, telling him with her tongue just how much she really does, in fact, love him.

—–

Sunday Night.

_Uh-oh! ICQ rang out so fucking loud Mulder flinched and almost tossed his beer on the floor. God dammit, he was going to have to remember to turn the volume down on that thing._

__

_Aliensatemyfieldreport 22:13 pm:_

__

_You around, Don Juan?_

__

Mulder grimaced. Scully had taken to calling him Don Juan right after his failed attempt to relationship counsel Holman Hart.

__

_Foxyspook 22:13 pm:_

__

_For a woman who spent the last 96 hours getting pash rash from her insanely oral boyfriend, you’re pretty cavalier with that sarcastic nickname._

__

He smiled in spite of himself.

__

The rest of the weekend had flown by, in a tangle of sheets, laundry, bad movies, and laughter. As intense as it had started, it was maybe the most normal weekend Mulder’d had since… well… since forever, maybe.

__

_Aliensatemyfieldreport 22:14 pm:_

__

_Boyfriend? :-/ Yuck._

____

His shoulders shook in a chuckle. He knew she’d hate that. He took a sip of beer.

____

_Foxyspook 22:14 pm:_

____

_Non-platonic life partner of indeterminate origin?_

____

_Aliensatemyfieldreport 22:15 pm:_

____

_Nice try space-boy. My origin is very determinable. You’re the one born with his head in the clouds. BTW. I think you’re missing a set of handcuffs. Your backup set is still attached to my bed frame. Or… was attached. Until about five minutes ago._

____

_Foxyspook 22:15 pm:_

____

_Damn. I had big plans for those._

____

He sat back and grinned, shaking his head in a huff. They didn’t get back around to role-playing. If he was honest with himself, he was a little shaken in the hours following, and even more so in the shower the next morning.

____

They had, for lack of better terminology, bruised the shit out of each other. Neither one of them would be rolling their sleeves up at work for at least the next week.

____

He’d kept a close eye on his partner, but she’d seemed mostly unfazed by the entire scenario.

____

ICQ dinged, bringing him back from reflection.

____

_Aliensatemyfieldreport 22:17 pm:_

____

_Ah, well. There’s always next time._

____

_Foxyspook 22:17 pm:_

____

_Next time? Have I created a monster?_

____

_Aliensatemyfieldreport 22:18 pm:_

____

_I think the creating might have been all mine, in this case._

____

Mulder felt the corners of his mouth twitch as he nodded to the computer monitor like she was sitting right in front of him. He was more relaxed than he’d been in ages. Thoroughly sated and fucked.

____

The one thing the weekend had served to do was solidify everything she was to him, and, maybe more importantly, everything he was beginning to see he was to her. The amount of trust she had in him, fuck. It brought him to his knees.

____

_Aliensatemyfieldreport 22:20 pm:_

_____ _

_Seriously um… I know I’m not the best at this but uh, thank you. For that. I’ve never… well let’s just say…_

______ _ _

His cursor flashed while he waited a second. And then he realized he didn’t need to force her into this. Into saying it.

______ _ _

And so, he did something Fox Mulder was notorious for being unable to do, in past relationships, in life. He let her off the hook.

______ _ _

_Foxyspook 22:20 pm:_

______ _ _

_Trust, remember? More than ever, I know how it is, between us._

______ _ _

He held his breath.

______ _ _

_Aliensatemyfieldreport 22:21_

______ _ _

_Boyfriend? Really?_

______ _ _

Mulder grinned.

______ _ _

_Foxyspook 22:21 pm:_

______ _ _

_Partner._

______ _ _

_(Aliensatemyfieldreport has left the chat)_

______ _ _

Mulder started to move from his computer to the couch. The ringing of his phone startled him so bad he almost dumped his beer again.

______ _ _

“Yeah?” he answered.

______ _ _

“Mulder…” she was silent after his name, and the silence stretched as he settled into his couch for the evening, lulled lazy by the sound of her breath.

______ _ _

“I know, Scully.”

______ _ _

He swore he could hear her smile.

______ _ _

“Have a good night.”

______ _ _

“See you tomorrow,” he said, voice soft in the tranquility of night.

______ _ _

There would be more Thursdays. Until then, he was looking forward to Monday morning, and Monday was looking real nice.

______ _ _

End.

______ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I thank you if you've stuck with this. I'd be happy to answer any questions, public or private, about non con roleplay. This was going to be a lot more brutal, but Mulder and I got tired and I felt like this was the right level for this fic.


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